


Alfronaut

by CallingCinderella



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Death, M/M, Major Illness, Terminal Illnesses, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallingCinderella/pseuds/CallingCinderella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were just some things you couldn’t help discovering, especially if you were surrounded by a library of information. It wasn’t meant to happen, it wasn’t his fault the file slipped out of his hand. It wasn’t his fault when he picked up the medical report. But, maybe, it was his fault for reading it.<br/>And just maybe, maybe, it was his fault for not noticing sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alfronaut

There were just some things you couldn’t help discovering, especially if you were surrounded by a library of information. It wasn’t meant to happen, it wasn’t his fault the file slipped out of his hand. It wasn’t his fault when he picked up the medical report. But, maybe, it was his fault for reading it.  
And just maybe, maybe, it was his fault for not noticing sooner.  
“It’s going to be alot of work to change all four of your subjects, this late into the year,” she spoke, brow raised.  
Arthur smiled, “Please, I really need them. I promise to work hard.”  
A small nod in his direction, and the deal was sealed.

He was in all new classes - Biology, Chemistry, Maths and Physics. He chose his seat purposefully in all his lessons, right at the front, middle desk - next to a certain Alfred F. Jones. He’d look over at his work when he didn’t understand,then quickly look back at his own when the other noticed. He’d go towards the other’s table at lunch, then swerve at the last minute and sit at the table by the trash can. He’d follow Alfred to their next class, then keep walking straight ahead, when Alfred had gone into the classroom, then making a U-turn to get in.

“Do you want my help,” he hissed out at the other, seating himself down, “You follow me everywhere. Seriously, if you need help, I don’t mind tutoring you, just stop being so…weird.”  
Arthur smiled, even if he was cheering on the inside, “Okay, I need your help, I don’t understand any of the work.” He sat down, letting the other explain to him what they did last lesson - it still made no sense, and he voiced it, to which the younger groaned, and went over again, and again, and again. Then he was at Alfred’s home, regularly, going over the lessons, again and again and again, Alfred not leaving him alone until he learnt it. He supposed it was nice - if anything, he learned what was going on, what to do and- “I want to be an astronaut, wanna bottle some stardust, don’t you think it’d be cool? What about you, Artie?”- his life goal.

But that was then, a long time ago. Life changes, sometimes for the worst, sometimes for the better, but either which way, life gives you a choice, you either follow it, or you get sucked into the flow.

Arthur remembers the day clearly, watching from the bed, trying not to laugh every time Alfred let out an exasperated sigh. He eventually got up, arms wrapping around the American’s waist, head resting on his shoulder to look over the computer screen. “Your application is fine Alfred, you’ve already worked on it for a whole month.” He silenced the younger with a finger over his lip, not wanting to hear another excuse, “Come, Alfred. You need to relax too.”  
Begrudgingly, Alfred let himself be led to the bed, where the both held eachother close, sweet nothings exchanged between them, with the odd caress here and there.

Then in the morning, he bought two envelopes, two stamps and two rolls of sticky tape. Both applications were finalised, and he posted them, hoping and praying that best efforts would be enough. He reached back home just as the silly, sleeping beauty awoke, rubbing his eyes and patting the desk for his glasses. Arthur chuckled, plucking them off the table and placing them gently on Alfred’s face, cupping his cheeks and giving him a soft, chaste kiss. “Good morning my little Alfronaut.”  
Alfred grinned, wrapping his arms around the elder’s neck, a hand tangling in the hairs at the base of Arthur’s head, “So you sent my application off without me being there, huh?” he chastised, but there was no malice, no hurt - he was thankful.

And then it was muddle, months flying by with gentle touches, warm breezes and a sweet, sweet romance. It was intoxicating, and neither wanted to reach the bitter end, laughing away any problems that flew at them - bills, missed promotion on Arthur’s side, and a slight dip in health on Alfred’s. But it was fine, they were fine.

 

The two sat huddled on the Jones’ family’s floor, the house to themselves. The winter was harsh this year, and Arthur made sure to hold his lover close, blanket upon blanket shielding them. He began to sort through the letters, absentmindedly running his hands through the soft blond locks of Alfred’s hair. He stopped short, then slipped one of the letters under his shirt when the other wasn’t looking, then slowly, ever so slowly, handed Alfred a letter.  
Alfred blinked in confusion, looking over the letter before he gulped nervously. This was it, his letter from NASA. He opened the letter quickly, heart hammering in his chest, and then read over the letter. And then he read over it again, slowly, and then again just to make sure. He looked over at Arthur, who was smiling at him, and he reached out, slamming his fist into Arthur’s shoulder. He got up, throwing the letter to the floor in disgust then ran up to his room, almost tumbling on the stairs.

Arthur could only stare in shock, before bending down and taking the letter into his hands. He read over it, then again, and then screwed it up. How dare they? How could they end the letter like that? He got up, slowly walking towards the other’s room, knocking on the door, “Alfred, open up.”

And he did, after half an hour, eyes bloodshot and cheeks stained. Arthur smiled softly, reached out to pull the other into his embrace. But Alfred moved past him, making his way to the old loft. He opened the window and pulled himself up, onto the roof to stare out at the world. Arthur joined him shortly after, wondering if this was what Alfred needed - the sight of the stars he’d never reach. “You’ll always be my Alfronaut,” Arthur whispered, and it pushed the younger over the edge.

Alfred sobbed, sobbed his heart out in the rain, because he could, because he wasn’t alone.

He felt secure arms around his waist, lips pressing against his neck, cheek, shoulder, anywhere they could reach. He was allowed his time to deal with his sorrow, but he knew Arthur was there for him, figuratively and literally. He turned in the other’s arms and fisted at the wet shirt, eyes frantically searching his face, “You’ll stay with me right?” It tumbled out, something he’d never dared to ask before, but now he really needed Arthur.

There was a nod, then a smile, and then he felt his heart flutter. He wiped his nose on Arthur’s shirt, much to the elder’s dismay, grinning up at him. Arthur chuckled and wiped away the tears, hands resting on the other’s cheeks, “I love you,” he admitted, and something inside Alfred bubbled and overflowed.  
“I love you too.”  
And then life didn’t seem so shitty.

But life doesn’t always go smoothly. People come and go; some stay, some leave, and, quite frankly, Alfred was happy. He didn’t want to drag down Arthur - the one he loved. There would be no use, he wished him all the best and, sure, he’d spent every day wondering about him, if he was okay, eating well, had a new partner, but that was okay. He was okay. And he told himself that everyday - even if he was dying, Alfred F. Jones would be okay, because Arthur Kirkland was okay. And no one, no one in the whole wide world, could take that away from him.

So when the oxygen mask was brought out to him, and snuggly fit around his head, as if he was made for him, he didn’t cry. He’d be happy in his last moments, dreaming of everything he couldn’t have - time, health and Arthur - sweet, beloved Arthur. Hardworking Arthur, with the big big emerald eyes and huge eyebrows, and the wobble in his voice when he cried, or the shortness of breath when he was angry, or the way his face would bloom into rose during their sweet, tender moments. Arthur was his everything, the only one who gave him a glimpse of the future, and he repaid the favour.

Alfred had let Arthur go.

He felt a dampness on his cheek, and he couldn’t help laugh. So much for that plan, huh? He sat up and looked at the clock, and then it hit him, and the tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how he willed them to. Where had his life gone? Where had all those fleeting moments of happiness gone? All his life he’d spent studying, making himself work rather than getting therapeutic treatment, and this was his repayment? He didn’t even become what he wanted, what he so wished, all because of this stupid, fucking disease. He beat helplessly against the edge of his bed, tears freely streaming down his face.

How could he have been so stupid? There was no way he’d ever be more than this disease, his disease, no way that he’d ever be somebody, or have somebody to love. He was an idiot, sticking to his fairy tales as if it was his religion, when what he really needed was to face reality. But now it was too late, and he couldn’t do anything, but wallow in self-pity. He flopped back onto the bed, not caring if any wires or needles would be displaced due to it - he was as good as dead now. He threw an arm over his eyes, not wanting the nurse to keep looking at him like that - he didn’t need it, any of it.

He cried out all his dreams, hopes and aspirations. How he wanted a two-bedroom house with a big garden surrounded by a white picket fence. Or how he wanted to live with Arthur, stay held in his embrace, only being broken by their child tumbling into their room to complain about the scary monsters in the closet. He didn’t even need the job he worked so hard for, he just wanted Arthur. And so he called out his name, before reducing himself to sobs and hiccups, banging his legs against the bed, anything to make him feel something other than the numbness in his chest.

If only he could do something, wish upon a star, reverse time. But no, he was only a disease, they could do nothing but destroy.

He heard the sound of the tv, and wondered if the nurse was finally tired of listening to him and was instead drowning out his noises. Maybe she had a right to, but it irked Alfred to no end, here he was losing his life and she just put the stupid tv with one channel on (and not the good channel either!). He moved his arm from over his eyes only to shut them quickly, dust smoothing across his face. He made to glare when he reopened his eyes, but his breath caught in his throat, his palms beginning to sweat and his heart skipping a beat.

He doesn’t know whether he should curse or cheer, so he stays silent, eyes flicking up to the tv. He watches the interview, sees the crinkle smile he knows too well, the one that’s also right infront of him.  
 _“This is for you, my Alfronaut.”_  
The cheering from the t.v. is drowned out, his ears ringing, playing the line over and over. He takes in a breath, moves his mouth to speak, he wants to speak, wants to call out, scream and shout - but he can’t.

And before he knows it, hands are on his face, a thumb smearing across his sunken cheeks to wipe away tears he didn’t even know had escaped, staring up at those green, green eyes and mouths his name.

Arthur slowly moves his hands lower, removing the mask around Alfred’s mouth, “It’s for you, my Alfronaut,” he whispers, pouring the dust over the other’s body. Alfred coughs, once, twice, then rubs his hands through the dust, pulls his glasses on and examines. He’s lost for words, mouth opening and closing, and then he laughs, but he’s crying. Arthur holds his hands, entwines their fingers’, let’s him know he’s there to stay, and Alfred breaths out, “Star dust”. 

Arthur nods, laughing softly, “You did say,” he states, running his hands through the other’s hair. Alfred laughs too, and then the room goes quiet. Where do they start?

“So, when did you hand in your application?,” Alfred idly asks, trying not to cough from using his voice.  
“When I gave yours in,” Arthur replies, “i should have told you, before I left…but I couldn’t. It was your dream, I couldn’t say I stole what you worked hard for.”  
Alfred shook his head, “You worked hard for it, really fucking hard.” And then he remembers, all the nights in highschool, Arthur staying over, crying his eyes out, ripping his hair out, because he didn’t understand it, didn’t come naturally to him like it did with Alfred. He smiled sadly, “You didn’t have to do all that for me. You could have done anything with the subjects we took.”  
And then Arthur’s holding his hand tightly, shaking his head, confessing it all - when he found out, how he found out, why he did what he did. Then they lapse back into silence, but this time its comfortable, Alfred just soaking in the information. He cracks a smile, Arthur had done that for him, so long ago?

It feels surreal, Alfred’s hands inbetween his, but he doesn’t question it. Arthur pats his hand gently, peppering his face with kisses, “I wont leave you ever again, I’m here for you.” Oh, how Alfred hated and loved those words.  
“I’ve only got hours to live,” he whispers, holding tightly onto the other, “Promise me,” he lets out a shaky breath, licking his lips to wet them, “promise me, you’ll forget about me. Move on, marry someone nice. I want you to have a life.”  
“I do have a life, it’s here, with you,” he replies. He then stands up, and leaves. Alfred simply stares, crashing back down to reality. Did…did he just dream that? He sits up quickly, despite his whole body protesting, biting down on his lip to ignore the pain. He waits five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes and his throat became tight. He grit his teeth, trying to stop the tears from falling, pinching himself. He couldn’t have dreamt this, it felt real, so very real, he couldn’t, it shouldn’t, it can’t - it can’t end like this, it cannot end like this, please, don’t let it end like th-

He’s snapped back to reality by gentle hands on his face, the caring, loving smile above him. He reaches out, squishing the youth between his fingers, hoping he could absorb some of it, even alittle bit. “Love, I wont leave you, I had to get something real quickly.” ah, how was it that Arthur’s voice was so soothing, even at a time like this?

Alfred raises a brow when Arthur sits down on the edge of the bed, he looks like he’s going to fall over, long, thin fingers feeling his own frail, sick finger. He looks around, noticing the extra person in the room, a man in long robes, a book in his hands. He whips his gaze back to Arthur, mouth open to ask but he gets silenced, a finger against his lips. He can see the nurse shuffling, can hear the beeps get slower and slower, and he’s not sure why, his heart is racing. Arthur’s talking, but he can only just hear him, so he shuffles closer, listening to that wonderful voice, “We’ll buy a house on the hillside, where our kids can grow and learn. We’ll have your white picket fence, and that two and a half kids malarky,” and he continues, but all Alfred can focus on is the slight wobble of his lovely Arthur’s voice, and he knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t want him to cry, so he reaches up, slowly, shakely, wiping at the elder’s eyes.

Arthur hiccups, trying his best to keep the tears away, keeping Alfred looking at him. But he’s distracted, looking past Alfred, at the nurse frantically messing with the heart monitor, and he swallows, once, twice. He calls the nurse over, points at something, but Alfred’s not really sure what, suddenly it’s hard to see much but Arthur, even with his glasses on. His eyes feel tired, already drooping, and he wants to close them, but he can’t - he’ll miss Arthur if he sleeps. No, he wants to take in as much as he can, ingrain Arthur in the back of his eyelids.

He feels cool metal against his finger, hears Arthur thank the nurse, who’s staring down at her finger, and Alfred can vaguely make out an imprint of something on it, maybe a-

 

“I want you forever, forever and always, through the good, the bad and the ugly. We’ll grow old together. I’ll still love you, please remember, I’ll love you, forever and always.” He feels cool metal slip onto his finger, and it clicks- a ring. He lets the tears run free, nodding his head quickly, mouthing, ‘I love you’, using his other hand to run over the ring. He registers the man, a priest he corrects, say something, and then its back to Arthur. He listens, heart swelling in his chest, smile bright.

Arthur finishes the vows, but can barely hear the other breathing. He kisses along the ring finger, the beeps getting slower and slower, quieter and quieter. he hears a whisper from the other, ‘forever and always’, he thinks. He chokes up, but Alfred’s eyes are closed, but he can’t have it, won’t have it, and he calls out for his Alfronaut. He shakes him, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes until he’s pulled off, until he hears the flatline, “I’ll always love you, Alfronaut.”


End file.
